


secret for the mad

by delusionalsabaism



Series: we're just human [1]
Category: DCU, Shazam! (2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Billy Batson Needs a Hug, Brothers, Fluff, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 14:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18448193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delusionalsabaism/pseuds/delusionalsabaism
Summary: "And about the nights where he wakes up with cold sweat on his brow and a scream stuck in his throat (well, no one else needs to know about them.)"Or: how the Shazam family copes with life after everything else.





	secret for the mad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GrimRevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimRevolution/gifts).



> Hello GrimRevolution,  
> If you're reading this, thank you so much! You're one of my most favorite authors and here, and you're what truly inspired me to write this fic. I know you're more into Marvel, but I tried to emulate your writing style! Again, thank you if you are here!
> 
> Hello, other readers! I saw Shazam a couple of days ago and decided to write a fic! This may be a bit confusing, so keep in mind that this reads like a series of short vignettes featuring each family member! Everything here all takes place after the events of Shazam, by the way (except for Freddy's one flashback) you can tell the quality went down after each one lmao

Billy Batson is Shazam.

He’s Shazam, and he is a fourteen-year-old foster kid. He’s Shazam, and he has inherited a bunch of superpowers  that he didn’t even deserve after kicking a bully in the crotch. He’s Shazam, and he’s looked death in the eye nearly countless times.

Only the other kids know, of course. Definitely not Victor and Rosa. They’d kill him if they ever found out.

Then again, a grounding would be nothing to getting shot in the face, to nearly falling to his death, to ripping out a demon eye with his bare hands.

Billy’s learned to handle it. Go with the flow, roll with the punches, flow with the current, ya know? This superhero shit’s pretty easy once you get used to it.

He smiles for the flashing cameras, signs autographs for hordes of fans, updates his Twitter profile every once in a while - gotta keep up with everyone else if you’re going to be a grownup. -It’s fine, most of the time. Just tiring.

And about the nights where he wakes up with cold sweat on his brow and a scream stuck in his throat ( well, no one else needs to know about them.) 

His dreams vary from night to night. 

Sometimes it’s the Christmas music playing faintly and a shower of glass raining down from the ceiling. It catches the light in a million dazzling pinpricks, blinding the watchers as Billy Batson, no longer Shazam, stumbles away. 

His mouth tastes like asphalt.

Other times it’s back in the throne room, surrounded by snarling demons and a bright blue eye boring into his very mind. The giant neon yellow lightning bolt on the wall feels like it’s mocking him.  _ Look at you,  _ it taunts.  _ You’ll never be a hero. You’re a mockery of everything he stood for. _

Even in his dreams, they don’t say the old king’s name out loud.

When he’s particularly unlucky, he finds himself back at the carnival. Not the final battle scene, but the first one. 

The one where it all started.

Billy’s surrounded by a giant crowd, clutching the compass firmly in his hand. Everyone’s pushing past him, going the opposite direction, and he feels like a fish in a violent stream. 

“Mom?” he calls, lost in the stench of sweat and popcorn and, hanging over it all, the overly sweet smell of her perfume permeating the air. “Mom!” 

There are too many people, and it feels as if they’re all staring at him, laughing at him behind his back, and he feels as if he’s about to choke-

“Hello? Little boy? Are you lost?” Billy hears a familiar voice and he turns around, stunned.

An all-too-familiar face stares back at him, smiling sweetly and one hand in the pockets of her red coat. When she pulls her hand out, his compass is now in her hand. “What’s this?” she asks in surprise. “I don’t remember having this.”

And then, if he’s having a good day, it’ll end like that.

 

Freddy Freeman is disabled.

I mean, that’s not all he is, of course. He doesn’t want to be relegated to the “poor disabled foster kid,” no matter how many jokes he might make about it.

He’s more than that. He  _ knows _ that he’s more than that.

Sometimes, when he’s flying, he can forget all about the accident that put him on crutches, how without his powers, he would never have been able to move around without help.

When he’s flying, there’s no ground, and it’s just him and the blue sky above, him and the puffy white clouds below, him and the bright golden sun ahead and nothing to hold him back.

He’s so  _ fucking  _ lucky.

The first time he flew, it took a second or two for the new information to sink in, even though it was right before his eyes, larger than life. Then, he felt his lips stretch wider into a gaping grin and his eyebrows arched for the sky. 

Amazement didn’t quite cover it. He felt like someone just took his spark of wonder and poured on kerosene. The small smile he showed on the outside couldn’t adequately reflect what he felt inside; it was like every neuron of his brain was trying to fire in both directions at once - the best kind of paralysis.

For once in his life, Freddy Freeman was speechless.

(Later that night, when the battle was over and wounds were being patched up, he cried into his pillow. Just a bit. He still doesn’t know why.

If Billy heard him, he didn’t show it.)

He still remembers the bad days. You know, from before he got his superpowers, obviously. (God, he’s never going to get tired of saying that.)

One time, he was walking home from school, and it was kind of raining, right? So he couldn’t hear anything over the thumping of his crutch and the sound of the small pellets of water spitting onto the pavement (gee, thanks, God).

Anyway.

It was raining, and the ground was wet, and he was still miserable from the bad score on the math test in Mrs. Pelletier’s class… so he had no way of noticing those two shitheads, Brett and Burke, sneak up from behind him.

Time seemed to move in slo-mo as he stumbled, accidentally putting pressure on his bad leg, and fell into a snowbank. Faintly, he heard his crutch scatter past him and land somewhere in the bushes as they laughed and high-fived each other, walking away.

He turned his head, noticing the faint reflection of his red backpack, paper scattered and torn apart by muddy winter boots, against the dirty snow. 

His crutch was pretty far from him, maybe two hundred meters? Three hundred meters? (What? He  _ was _ bad at math. Just look at his test scores.) It was way too far for him to reach out and grab so that he could pull himself back up.

His bad leg hurt so, so much, and he wanted to cry, not that he would ever admit that to anyone else. He was just waiting there, for someone to come, and- and then they  _ did _ come, and get him, and took him home, and everything was fine.

Everything was fine.

 

Darla Dudley is eight.

Her favorite food is soft serve chocolate (not vanilla) ice cream with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, her favorite color is pink (now, though, she thinks it might be purple), and her favorite hobby is running at super speed in superhero form.

It’s so cool!! She loves how she can go almost anywhere, from the park to the aquarium to that one pretzel store in the mall…  _ so _ many choices.

She just wishes that she had a skirt though, like Mary. She just wants to feel the wind on her legs when she runs… and it also helps that Mary’s costume makes her look like a Disney princess.

Whatever. Victor always says, “No crying over spilled milk,” whenever something bad happens, and that’s what she’s going to do. No crying over a purple outfit.

Do Victor and Rosa know? She hopes not. She hasn’t spilled the beans (yet) to them about their cool new powers and about how Billy is actually the new superhero and how she read Freddie’s diary and saw that he had a crush on…

“Darla, honey? Is everything all right? You’re staring.”

Darla snaps back to Earth and the dinner table. “Yeah. Just tired. Wow, these tamales are really good!” she says, changing the subject. (It’s  _ technically _ not a lie - she  _ is _ tired from school, and Rosa makes really good tamales.)

“Glad you enjoy them!” Rosa smiles. It doesn’t take that much to make her happy, which is good, because Darla doesn’t like it when people are sad. “You should save some room for dessert, though…”

All the kids looked up at the same time. “Dessert? What’s the occasion?” Billy asked.

Victor groaned. “Way to ruin the surprise, babe,” he joked. “Well, now the cat’s out of the bag, I guess it’s safe to say… that I got a raise! Ice cream for dessert tonight!” He made jazz hands in the air, looking expectantly at the kids.

“That’s great!”

“Yeah, congrats!”

“So… where’s the ice cream?”

Rosa rolled her eyes at Freddy. “That’s it, no dessert for you.”

“Oh, come  _ on _ !” he protested. The table burst into laughter, messy dinner plates pushed away and forgotten. “I have a giant test tomorrow and I need sugar to stay awake for the late-night studying… oh. Shoot. The late-night studying.” Freddy looked panicked, eyes darting to Darla.

Darla didn’t understand what that look was about. Maybe he was just worried that there wouldn’t be any ice cream left for her.

However, Billy seemed to know what was going on. He narrowed his eyes in understanding, then looked at Darla. “Hey Darla, can you help me with the dishes? Both of us haven’t done it in a while, so… yeah.”

Darla pouted. “I wanted some ice cream,” she complained, sagging down lower in her chair.

“Please?” Billy asked. “I’ll get you some ice cream later. Plus, I kind of want to talk about the  _ lightning storm project _ at school,” 

Darla frowned, not understanding what he was trying to say, then her eyes widened in understanding. Right! The “lightning storm project” was the secret password for the  _ thing _ that they all had!

“Oh! Ohhhhh.  _ That _ . Yeah, I’ll help with the dishes!” She got up cheerfully, stacking the plates around her into one pile for Billy to carry.

Rosa and Victor looked at each other in confusion, both wondering what was going on between the two. “Okay, kids. Darla, Billy, we’ll save some ice cream for you when you finish.”

Darla grabbed the stepping stool (So. _Heavy._ ) and dragged it towards the sink, standing on top of it. At least it made her taller than Billy. That was nice. “So,” she whispered loudly. “What about the ‘lightning storm project’?”

Billy shushed her, turning on the water. “I’ll wash, you dry?” he asked. 

Darla nodded impatiently. “Yeah, what’s going on?”

“Freddy has to study for his test, which we forgot to put on the schedule, so… I guess you’re on surprise patrol, Darla,” Billy said. “It’s okay, I’ll just go with you. Everyone else is booked.” 

He runs his fingers through his hair (he  _ never _ combs it), and sighs. Even Darla sees that he’s way too tired than he should be, than anyone his age should be.

He catches her watching and gives her a small smile. “Might want to stock up on ice cream, Darla. It’s going to be a  _ long _ night.”

 

Mary Bromfield is unaccustomed to not holding up the weight of the world.

UC Berkeley’s a nice change from the snowy winters of Philadelphia. Sure, San Francisco’s cloudy most of the time, though at least she can see the sea. 

Every Friday, she and her new friends go out for boba or espresso at a nearby cafe, a brief respite from the large piles of homework and essays and textbook readings due the day after. Well, they’re usually not due  _ the day after _ , but it sure seems like it.

She has a steady boyfriend - Simon, who she’s been dating for about a month or so by now (it’s hard to keep track). He’s nice enough. He gets her flowers and chocolates and takes her out to lunch every week.

When they’re kissing, she wonders about how the others are going to organize the patrol schedule in her absence.

She called them as soon as Simon went to his dorm, of course. Eugene picks up the phone, even though it’s about dinner time over in Philadelphia. “Yeah?” he asks, voice tinged with annoyance.

“Eugene, who’s doing patrol with Darla now that I’m gone?” They had written it down on a planner that Mary got from the dollar store. Eugene on Mondays, Freddy on Tuesdays, Pedro on Wednesdays, Darla  and Mary on Thursdays, and Billy on Fridays. During the weekend, they would all just go out as one group and spread out throughout the city. So much easier.

“Oh, um… we take turns. Freddy  _ said _ that he had a major ‘late-night study session’ to finish, even though it was his turn today. Billy’s just playing favorites.” Even at nine years old, Eugene still manages to infuse his voice with way too much annoyance than should be humanly possible for someone his age.

“Oh. Oh, okay. Sorry to wake you up. I’ll tell Billy about this tomorrow. Good night, give the others and Victor and Rosa my love!” she rattles on, voice tinged with a hint of desperation.

Eugene hangs up the phone first, leaving Mary to watch the dial button turn red and disappear.

These days, most of her calls end like that. 

This is basically her requirements for the week: school, homework, hang out with friends, date, call home, go to the gym to blow off some steam.

She’s taken up kickboxing - it takes up a lot of strength, yet it also requires speed and agility. Paired together, it’s the perfect training for combat. And she’s not even cheating by using her powers.

Every time her fist connects with the punching bag, she can feel the reassuring sturdiness under her hand-wrapped knuckles (no boxing gloves for her - a punching bag is child’s play compared to a many-tongued, nigh-invulnerable demon) and the solid heft of the sandbag swaying back towards her.

She imagines the punching bag as the school bullies, the demons, Dr. Sivana - anything that would  _ dare _ to hurt her family underneath her watch.

It would be nice if the bright red bag burst into pieces when faced with her glare, sand scattering across the gym floor and raining down from the ceiling, making a nice contrast to her dark brown hair.

However, no such thing happens, and she is forced to unwrap her clenched hands and uncoil her body, transforming into a studious, pretty,  _ ordinary _ college student when she is everything but.

 

Pedro Peña is.

He is constant, an immovable object. If you asked anyone what they thought of Pedro, the general gist of it would be that he was a riddle, a mystery, an enigma, all wrapped in a layer of solid stone.

His tough exterior doesn’t help with outside views of him, either. He was built like a cannonball, solid and round, a dark expression on his face. 

No one in the family knows too much about him. He smiles when he has to, talks when it’s necessary, and generally keeps to himself.

Why bother stuffing an already cramped space with unnecessary text? It looks good enough as it is.

When Pedro goes to work out in the garage and places his headphones over his ears, it’s instant relief. Freddy once teased him that he must be listening to the audio form of crack - he’s never been seen without his headphones. Mary once asked for some artist recommendations.

In reality, there’s nothing to listen to. Nothing. He tucks some extra sound-dampening foam next to the speakers and closes his eyes so that all he can hear is the faint thumping of his heartbeat. A metronome, keeping the rhythm of his moving arms at a steady pace.

He feels the sting in his eyes as his sweat drips down from his dark hair and the trembling of his arms and the freezing cement under his feet and thinks that he has never felt more alive.

When he is finally finished and removes his headphones, the faint chatter from the house and the chittering of the birds outside seem almost deafening to him. When he breathes, condensation paints the frozen windows and steams in the cool air of the garage.

Pedro imagines the faintly white cloud as a speech bubble from those comic books that he reads, slowly expanding and enlarging throughout the garage until it presses against the walls and flattens him against the concrete. All that hot air, nothing to say.

He heads inside, tossing his weights on top of Darla’s homework and accidentally crumpling it. He pretends not to notice - he’s too exhausted to fix it and too hungry to care.

He’s a little too much like Mary than he would like to admit - she’s a neat freak, he’s a  _ bit _ of a slob, she’s a good cook, he once burned an entire pot of spaghetti, she cares too much, he doesn’t care at all. 

However, they have one thing in common: they both agree that using powers in ordinary life would be a little too much like cheating for their comfort.

He didn’t do anything to deserve it or was the one originally blessed by the wizard. So why should he use it unnecessarily? Unlike Billy, who uses it any chance he can get, even for the most trivial of tasks.

Sometimes, Pedro envies Billy, his spitfire attitude and mischievous smile. He uses lightning to charge his phone and super speed when he wakes up late or strength to get back at two bullies, but nothing ever happens to him. Zero consequences.

Then again, there are the nights when he wakes up to go get a small snack from the kitchen or a drink of water and he hears crying from across the hall, differently pitched than Freddy’s voice.

He ignored it and went back to bed, still disturbed by the soft muffled weeping from the other room.

The next day, Billy accidentally steps in a cold cup of tea, brown liquid spilling all over his socks and dripping onto the floor.

The incident is soon forgotten, dismissed as a harmless prank. Billy changes his socks.

 

Eugene Choi is a hacker.

Well, he prefers the name ‘Glitch’. Makes him sound more of a superhero and less of a creepy fifty-year-old dude who secretly watches people through their webcams. 

Maybe that could be his superhero name. Glitch. Except for the fact that his superpower has nothing to do with computers, but whatever. He’ll figure something out. They can’t  _ all  _ be named the same thing, right?

The techie, IT guy, plucky sidekick, whatever. Need a secure file encrypted? Eugene’s your guy. Someone to help you pass all 47 levels of Dungeon Masterz without even so much touching a button? He’ll be there, despite Mary’s wishes. (She can’t do anything in California, anyway. That’s one benefit of her departure.)

It started when he was about eight. He had just moved in with Rosa and Victor, and he had never so much as played with technology before. The closest he has ever come to a video game was sneaking off behind his former caretaker’s back and using his phone.

Needless to say, the rest of his time there had not been a fun experience.

Anyway, when he first arrived at the school, he knew absolutely nothing. The entire first day had just been a mess of “Hi, my name is…” and “Why don’t you introduce yourself to the class?” and “I’m sorry, I think I’m lost. Can you direct me to…”.

So when Eugene stumbled into the robotics and coding club entirely by accident, it felt like a breath of fresh air at the end of a hot summer day. 

Mr. DiConti didn’t ask for introductions, or tell him he was in the wrong place, or look down upon him because he was younger than most of the kids there. He just sat Eugene down at a computer and patiently instructed him on how to move this robot from one place to another.

And from there, it all just kind of fell into place. He started advancing much more rapidly than the other kids, won a laptop in a coding competition, and started playing video games.

The next time Eugene dared to try his hand at hacking after the disastrous success of finding Billy’s mom, his entire body was racked with anger, too pissed off to be nervous. He zoned out all throughout his subjects, was distracted the entire time in coding, and ran all the way home, locking his door and grabbing his computer.

Hacking would always be the closest thing to magic that he would ever come to in his life. Not even turning into an all-powerful superhuman with abilities to rival the Justice League came close to this one moment.

Leaning back in frustration, Eugene let some glittering beads of sweat trickle down his forehead. He stared at the contrasting white pixels against black as if all the URLs and fragments of code clogged the gears of his mind. 

Although the overheated laptop scorched his lap and the jungle of algorithms played a laser show on his glasses, he held his breath to concentrate as if his life depended on it. 

Eugene’s eyes combed the monitor in search of a bug, moving from side to side rapidly. Nothing could be heard in the stuffy bedroom but the violent beating of fingers against a keyboard and the increasingly unbearable spin of the CPU cooler fan. 

In the air, the scent of coffee and hot electronics was replaced by sweat. The tension and suspense solidified. Suddenly, a peal of hysterical laughter broke out in triumph. With a hesitant click, he transferred the files to Brett and Burke Breyer’s school accounts and covered it up messily, just enough that the school administrators would notice and activate further investigation.

An image of Freddy, lips blue and jacket covered in snow, flashed in Eugene’s mind, and he scowled.  _ That’s for messing with any of us, a-holes. _

The next week, Brett and Burke were suspended for a month, and Eugene watched the chaos unfold from the sidelines. A small, seemingly innocent smile bloomed from his lips, tainted by a mere hint of guilt.

 

“Wow, um… we got home quicker than we were supposed to, right?” Freddy laughs nervously. The two are walking down the sidewalk, only about five minutes away from home. “I mean, wow, would you look at that, an hour early! Fun!”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault that club let out early today.” Victor had signed the two up without telling them (“It’ll look good on your future college applications! Don’t worry, you’ll thank me later!”). 

Billy stops kicking the ball of ice along the street before he notices the weird look on Freddy’s face. “Okay, you’re acting kinda weird. What’s up?”

“N- Nothing.” Freddy grins too widely. His voice is like an octave higher. “Hey, do you want me to show you this cool new Youtube video? Someone took our early videos and made it into a parody on SNL!”

“Okay, no need to be so weird about it,” Billy laughs, already huddling next to Freddy. Freddy takes longer than usual to pull out his phone, combing through all of his pockets meticulously until he finds it. “Dude, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing at all, what are you talking about?”

“It’s like negative whatever degrees out and you’re sweating,” Billy says, noticing the unusual heat that Freddy is radiating. He takes a step back.

“It’s… because… you’re hot? Wow, that sounded so gay, I’m sorry,” Freddy rambles. “Not in a gay way, I just mean temperature wise.”

Billy, thankfully, starts laughing. “You’re the worst liar ever. What’re you hiding?”

“Nothing, really, just-” Freddie’s phone goes off, and he checks it while Billy is occupied. “Oh! Never mind, looks like we don’t need to watch that SNL video after all! Let’s go to the party!”

Billy stops laughing and frowns at Freddy. “What?”

“I mean…” Freddy grimaces at him. “Let’s go home.”

Billy’s mouth forms a disappointed, but not surprised line. “Let me guess, all our friends are there and they just finished setting up my surprise birthday party?”

Freddy starts laughing nervously. “Haha, what makes you think-” 

“Freddy.”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right, please pretend to be surprised,” Freddy begs. “For my pride.”

Billy gives him a thumbs-up. “Sure.”

oOo

“SURPRIIIIISE!” Rosa’s voice strides above everyone else’s as they all jump out from behind the pieces of furniture in the house. 

“Holy moly, I’m so surprised,” Billy says in one emotionless breath. 

“Oh, please, I could’ve acted more surprised than that,” Eugene says, folding his arms. 

“Thanks, guys. Blame Freddy.  _ He _ blew your cover.” Billy says, grudgingly accepting a warm hug from Victor. 

“Dammit, Freddy,” Eugene groans. 

“You try getting anything past him,” Freddy huffs. 

“I’m pretty sure anyone else could,” Victor says dryly, giving Freddy a sympathetic pat on the back.

Pedro drags in a large box, giving a noncommital “happy birthday” to Billy. He sets it down on the table with a soft thud.

One by one, the other foster kids and Victor and Rosa come up to wish him a happy birthday individually. Freddy was the last, grinning so wide it stretched from ear to ear. “Happy birthday, Billy!” he says excitedly. “You’re turning fifteen, right?”

“Yeah,” Billy says dazedly, sweeping his gaze across the room. He feels kind of like crying when he looks at all the happy faces.

Freddy takes pity on him. “Come on. Let's have some cake.”

The cake was two tiers and chocolate with blue and green frosting, and it was absolutely delicious. Billy ate two pieces and might've gone back for a third, had Freddy not declared it time for presents. 

He sat in quiet shock as each person presented him with a gift, ranging from a bouquet of flowers from Rosa to a beautiful poster of Shazam from Mary, who had shipped it days beforehand from California. Victor’s was a set of roller skates. Darla gave him a dozen chocolate chip cookies that Victor helped her make. Pedro and Eugene worked together to get him a new headphone set and a premium account on Spotify for a year (Billy wasn’t going to ask how Eugene got that membership). Each gift was so thoughtful that it made the urge to cry even worse. He'd never had such an amazing birthday. 

Billy’s still in shock as he and Freddy stick in a handful of mismatched candles. Rosa pulls a lighter out of her pocket. “Okay, get your fingers out of the way, kids.” 

She and Victor get into an argument about how best to light the candles, while Eugene and Pedro do their best without dripping wax all over the frosting. Darla’s clapping her hands together, trying to control everyone, but nobody minds her because she’s the youngest of them all.

In the chaos, Freddy comes over and slips something into his hand. Billy looks down and sees that it’s a piece of sketch paper, rolled up and tied together with a red ribbon. “Hey, can you open this later?” Freddy whispers. 

Billy nods and holds the paper loosely in his hand as the others sing happy birthday and the candles burn a steady golden yellow. As he blows it out, the wispy lumes of silver smoke lazily drift upwards and waltz out of the room.

Later, stuffed full of cake and opening up his textbooks to do his homework, he remembers the sheet that Freddy handed him. He unravels the ribbon and lets it fall to the floor, staring at the paper.

The members of the Justice League seem to stare up at him, practically leaping out of the page. Wonder Woman’s golden lasso is being tossed Batman as he throws a Batarang at Superman, who is flying in midair after Aquaman, chasing after Barry running on the surface of the ocean.

It’s beautiful.

“You like it?” Freddy asks suddenly. Billy turns around to find him standing in the doorway. 

He manages to contain his awe long enough to formulate words. “Um, yeah. It’s… wow. I love it. Thank you, Freddy.”

Freddy turns away from embarrassment, pale cheeks flushing bright red. “It’s nothing, really,” he mutters. “Happy birthday, Billy.” Billy smiles widely at Freddy as he walks away.

Billy Batson is many things: foster kid, superhero, and friend. However, as for today, he is a fifteen-year-old kid, and the burden on his shoulders has lifted, if only temporarily.

**Author's Note:**

> I know the whole scene with Freddy and Eugene hacking into the test files is a bit confusing, but don't worry, that'll be explained in the next work since this is part of a series! 
> 
> Work title is based on a Dodie song, same with the series title!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos, comment, and subscribe!
> 
> edit: OwO this is the longest shazam one shot here so far i feel honored


End file.
